


Released

by ThomE_Gemcity_06



Category: Dexter (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Gore, Crime Scenes, Crime Solving, Crossover, Drama, Fake Detective, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Mystery, Possession, Self-Reflection, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9183262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThomE_Gemcity_06/pseuds/ThomE_Gemcity_06
Summary: In order to solve a mystery in Miami, Dean has to go deep undercover into the lion’s den.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **"Supernatural" is set in season 7 (with a surprise guest!), but some things have changed [light spoilers for season 6; various episodes]. And "Dexter" is set in season 6, but things are changed as well- spoilers for both. I've done 2 other Dextural fics, and I will admit that I flunked on doing Dean, but I'm so going to make it up; I hope that I get the "Dexter" characters right- I do find it kind of hard to write for Dexter if it's not in his POV, but when it is it's difficult to write for Dean. _Heh, so awesome is that._**
> 
> **WARNING: Contains some severe words- everybody has them coming out their flappers- sticking your fingers in your ears aren't going to help you any. (I know this is messed, but I kinda find it hard to picture Dexter swearing, so Dean will be doing most of it)**

Dean Winchester wasn't sure that he liked Miami; it was too crowded and too open. Really, he actually found that it was too bright here, and hot. Sometimes change was good, but this was one thing that Dean didn't agree on. He preferred the smaller towns that were full of secrets and damp and seemed dimmer. But this place was all open areas, and he found himself itching to glance behind him, just in case. John had never gone to cities because of what they did, fake-feds would draw in the coppers like a teenage boy to the hot next-door neighbour. This place just gave him that chill, the one that he got when some big-bad was around somewhere-- and he knew, _knew_ that one was so near. It was the reason why he got goose bumps and the hair on the back of his neck rose on end.

There were people everywhere, people who might as well have been half-naked, and he was sure that he stuck out like a sore thumb. Nearly, it was kinda nice on the part of all the hot women who were walking around in bikinis along the beach, but in town it was full of guys in Hawaiian and bowling shirts. Dean shuddered. This place was big enough for him to melt into the seams, big enough that his presence wouldn't even go noticed. He wasn't here for the commodities, a fucking vacation, please! After all the shit that he's been through in his entire life; what happened to John, Bobby, Cas, Sam, Ben and Lisa... Death, abandonment and insanity. If he even stopped for a moment, stopped moving, paused, he wouldn't be able to do anything, for real. He was sure that his breakdown was coming sooner than not, but until then, he was going to take care of whatever the hell was happening in the streets of Miami and right under the cops noses. He put a smile on. Before it would have looked forced, but now he's had a lot of time to perfect it-- he was good at this from the beginning so he didn't have to stretch that far.

When Dean had first arrived, he didn't have ass from fuck to go from, but he did have his trusty sidekick, Frank! Dean had gotten the crank to hack into the metro P.D's database and gotten all the files-- on basically everything suspicious; any multiple murders that just suddenly stopped-- without any arrests. This was Dean's usual job, he was sure that there were multiple monster that were not responsible. No hearts torn out, no being seen in two places at once, no piles of discarded appearances, no dead plants scattered around the bodies, no eaten flesh. But mass disappearance in a general location-- say Miami-- it could mean a pissed blue spirit. But now there would be no way that he'd be able to check something like that; too much time had passed, the EMF wouldn't pick up on anything clearly. And with all the time that Dean had been spending with these cold-case files, he'd found nothing that connected any of the victims-- that was the only clue that he had to go on seeing as there were no suspects. So in fact, he really had... Nothing. And the more that he read and the more that he studied these files, Dean was starting to think that maybe these weren't bump-in-the-night deaths. Maybe **people** were doing these crimes.

Obviously that wasn't uncommon, Dean had just never dealt with 'natural' deaths. And despite the fact that his life had just been a paper bag full of flaming shit, he was glad that he never dealt with this kind of thing. That on a daily basis, he didn't have the fact that the human race were sick and that he was one of them. If he had grown up to be an actual cop and had to deal with this, then been drafted into the whole apocalypse douche-beggary, he was sure that he wouldn't have wanted to save the world and the human race-- that maybe the angles and the demon were right in calling them a bunch of fucking maggots from a dead bitches cunt called mother earth.

Dean sighed and slapped the current folder in his hands onto the table with a _slap!_ He'd been here a week, in this shit-fuck considered a motel room. Going over the files over and over again, nothing came, nothing at all. He didn't know how he was supposed to proceed. He didn't want to flash a badge just yet and draw unwanted attention to himself, that meant that he couldn't talk to any of the detectives that had been on the case. And he wasn't even sure if he really wanted to continue with whatever the fuck this was. 

Was it really that bad for murderers to be dead instead of going to jail? Even if they did get caught and tried and went to prison, twenty-five to life for man slaughter, parole in fifteen for good behaviour? So they just be back on the streets and back to their old ways. What was so bad about innocent people being saved, it was what Dean did, wasn't it? He hunted down monsters, those who hurt innocent people: women, children, everyone-- because they were sick and they had to be put down. How were these any different? Mutilation? Decapitation? Rape? Torture? Plain murder? How was whoever was doing this, taking care of the bad guys, different from him? What was so different between these murderers and the monsters that Dean hunted?

He couldn't see the line clearly, there might as well not be one. But even if he did let this vigilante continue on what he was doing, he had to know. Be it curiosity or the fact that maybe he could trust whatever the hell was going on if he knew what was responsible. If he was going to do this, then he had to be quick. He'd already been in Miami longer than he wanted or intended.

Dean could no longer look at this as an objective-outside-third-party, he had to dive into this shit. If he was going to find out who was doing this, then he was going to have to think like them. And form what he could piece together, to only really be able to find the person responsible for all these crimes was to have connections. A reporter didn't have enough access, so it _had_ to be someone in the Miami Police Department. This was an inside job. So he was going to have to put on that stupid, cheep, accountant suit and tie, but it wasn't as if he could just waltz in there a lone fed. They wouldn't buy that and it wasn't as if there was a string of murders happening at the current moment for him to 'investigate'.

So he had to find a way to get himself in there without drawing attention, and the only way he could think to do that was to infiltrate the police department, assume an identity of a detective so that he could actually be at the center of everything, have an eye on every angle.

He hissed out a breath through clenched teeth, so it turned out that he was going to be here for way, way longer here than he thought. He rolled to the other side of the bed and grabbed his cell from the stand and flipped it open, hitting Frank's number and putting it to his ear.

This was going to be so much fun.

"Hey, Frank--" Dean started, the fake-friendliness in his voice obvious to even him.

"Want do you want this time?" Frank demanded. "First you have me hack into the police department, it can't be worst than that."

Dean sucked in a breath through his teeth and told Frank what he wanted.

"Damn it, Dean!" Frank growled before he hung up.

Dean winced as he hung up the phone and put it on the bed beside him as he laid back with an explosive sigh. He threw an arm over his eyes, this was going to suck some serious shit.

It was five days before Frank got back to him and in that time, Dean had bought two more cheap suits, a pair of dress shoes and several different ties. He found a hip holster, ankle holster and shoulder holster.

Dean knew that Frank was good, he just hoped the crank was good enough to pull this off because it was some serious shit. And as it turned out, he was. It wasn't long before Dean got a parcel containing the appropriate paper work, shield, I.D., and service weapons. Frank had created a fake record for him, where he grew up, went to school and college, the academy and the station he worked, the record on patrol then promotion to detective. Frank had sent an email to Miami P.D., noting his transfer into their station. He thought of everything, even to change Dean's name; so he was now known as Dean Casey instead of Winchester. The only other reason that this was going to work at all was because before Cas went all purgatory, he'd erased Dean Winchester from everything. If you searched him name, you'd get not hits because Dean Winchester no longer existed.

**dextural**

"Hey, Dex!" Lieutenant Deborah Morgan called as her adopted brother passed her office.

Dexter Morgan paused and backtracked the few steps to Deb's open office, an empty cup in hand. The station's small kitchen, something made of three walls, two of which were laid with countering and the other which posted the fridge, a coffee machine and microwave, and cupboards full of the necessaries. The coffee was shit, but it was caffeine nonetheless, and with a dreary Miami afternoon like this…

"What's up, Deb?" he asked, his voice exceptionally smooth.

"Check this out," she told him, grabbing his arm and very much against his will, dragged him to the other side of the desk. Only Deborah. She all but lifted her computer monitor off her desk to show him. "Look," she insisted.

Dexter looked at her for a long moment, letting her know how childish she was being right now for a Lieutenant, but he let his eyes trail to the screen. It was an official email, apparently, the department was getting another detective, a guy transferring in from Pontiac, Illinois. Dexter was actually surprised, he couldn't say that they didn't need another fellow cop, but this was two requests that Deb got approved. LaGuerta for as long as she had been Lieutenant, had trouble with this kind of thing, getting her requests approved; if she found out about this, she was going to give dear Deb more shit than she already got. But Deb deserved this and looked like the detective that they were getting was no joke. Looked like he moved up the ranks at a pretty quick rate, recommendations, closed a lot of cases. He'd probably be a good fit; eyes the colour of raw emeralds, short blond hair, squared chin and shoulders, a curve to his lips almost like he knows something you don't.

Dexter found himself swallowing and tore his gaze from the photo I.D. and back to Deb. "Congrats, sis."

Deb grinned at him like a maniac. "Fuck yeah!" she agreed.

"So when's he coming?" Dexter asked, thinking that it was appropriate and he found himself curious. Every time there was someone that transferred in or a new hire, he had to be cautious. He hadn't been careful enough with James Doakes and he had to kill him, this new transfer had that sharp gaze and if Dexter wasn't careful, he was going to have to do something unpleasant.

"This came in the other day, so he should be here tomorrow."

"You're happy about this." Dexter noted.

"How can I not? When LaGuerta was Lieutenant she couldn't get shit from ass from Matthews and I already got two new detectives." She gloated.

"You shouldn’t let her hear you say that," Dexter warned. "She already wants to rip your head-off for just getting this promotion."

"Let her try," Deb said in angry-bravado, her hands on her hips.

Dexter shook his head. "Have fun with that," he told her. "I'm going to get some much needed caffeine." He held his cup up to her. "Cheers," he left her with that.

She groused something under her breath.

As Dexter poored the hot liquid into his cup, he decided that he was going to do a little research on the detective that was supposed to come in. Dean Carey-- _Casey_ , that was it, just so he knew what to expect.

**dextural**

This went against every instinct that Dean had ever acquired during his life, walking straight into the metro? What the fuck was he on?! Yes, he had a drinking problem, but he didn't seem to ever get drunk anymore, and he didn't want to find out what might happen to his head if he ever did get rightfully plastered. But something had to be wrong with his head because he was willingly going into a police station, filled with government lackeys and authorities. Every time he been in a police station, bad shit goes down. Demon's come, and they kill and they filet. They'd actually, finally gotten Hendricks see that he and Sam weren't fucking delusional-- and then that white-trash whore Lilith had to be a bitch that she was and fuck everything up just like those demons always did. But he wasn't here to make friends, or have people see the world for what it really is, fucked. No, he was going to go in there and he was going to find this Miami vigilante.

Dean had switched motel rooms-- _motels_ actually, now under his new I.D. and he brought the Impala with him and just changed the plates so that it was now  registered in his new name-- it was all the _home_ that he had left.

But this morning he walked to the Miami Metro Police Department, it only being a few blocks from his motel. He was standing across the street of the station, trying to get his bearings. It was too late now to turn back and if he did, Frank would never shut up about it. And the paperwork was already sent in and if he didn't show up that would make the cops suspicious and then he'd be caught in their relenting gaze once again.

_Focus!_ He told himself, now was not the time to be distracted by past fucked-upness. There was no way that he could prepare himself for this more than he already was, which wasn't much. He was a detective now, Detective Dean Casey. He wasn't Wanted Dean Winchester, so when he walked in there he wasn't going to get mobbed by bodies, beaten with batons and muzzles at his head. This wasn't enemy territory, but instead _his_ place-- where he was meant to be.

He couldn't help by feel tense as he walked through the glass doors and spotted a guard, then the metal detector. It made him pause, but only for a second and would only be caught had one been searching for it. There was a door to the side before the metal detector and Dean deciphered that as the access door for cops, it was accompanied by a key card pad. He couldn't go that way because he didn't have one yet, so his only choice was to go through the civilian way. 

He walked up and gave the guard a nod, the man nodded back, holding out a tray.

"Empty your pockets please," he said.

Dean did, and boy was there an assortment. His money clip (he had Frank make him an account) and badge, photo I.D., the two 9mm from his shoulder holster, the back up from his right ankle holster, a pair of cuff from the clip in the back of his belt, and the extra clip as well as a knife.

The guard looked down at the tray with raised brows before he looked back up at Dean, who just shrugged his shoulders. The guard took Dean's photo I.D. and looked at it, comparing it with the real thing. 

This was one of the things that Dean had been worried about, whether Frank's skill was a good as he said it was. This wasn't the minor leagues anymore, this I.D. had to be the real deal, better than all his other phoney one, or he was fucked.

"Haven't seen you around here before," the guard comment, his eyes on Dean.

Dean nodded his head. "Just transferred actually,"

"Good luck," the guard told him, sliding the tray to the other side of the metal detector.

"Thanks," Dean went through and gathered his things, only let out the breath of relief as the turned the corner, but this wasn't over yet.

He came to the reception desk and showed the guy his I.D. and told him that he was here to see Lieutenant Morgan. He pointed Dean in the direction of the office. That was the direction that Dean stocked straight to the Lieutenant's office, his eyes flickered across the bullpen, taking everything in in the few seconds that it took to get to the office. He knocked on the door and got a surprise when a woman answered it instead of the man that he was expecting, but he didn't let it show on his face.

"Come in," she said. "And take seat."

Dean slipped passed her and took the empty chair at the front of the desk as she shut the door and came around to her desk.

"Detective Casey, I'm Lieutenant Deborah Morgan." She held out her and Dean shook it firmly. "It's nice to meet you,"

She had long dark hair and wore a pant-suit, her eyes were big and she was young, younger than Dean-- and she was already a lieutenant. She must've solved a huge profile case to get this promotion.

"I was happy to transfer out," Dean told her.

"Were there problems?" Deb asked.

_Shit!_ "No, just needed a change of s cenery." Dean assured her.

The corner of Deb's mouth turned upward as his fluster. "So, I'm not gonna put you to work today; got to fill out some paperwork."

And the next thing Dean knew, Deb had placed a stack of papers that-- Dean swore, was as thick as a small novel.

"It fucking sucks," Deb said, seeing his expression. Dean raised a brow. "But once all this formal shit is out of the way, you'll get your key-card and officially become a member of the Miami Metro P.D."

"Great," Dean said in agreement.

"I'll show you to your desk." She smiled.

Dean carried the stack of forms and followed Deb through the bullpen, she lead him back near to where the labs were. It wasn't the best place that Dean could have been stationed, he would have preferred to have a full view of the place, but he couldn't comment on that fact. His desk was near the edge of the aisle that was the main entrance and exit to the labs, across was another office.

"This is it," she told him, "Behind, that’s the lab and further down is the morgue, the office across from this is our blood analyst Dexter, back before my office is the bathroom and kitchen. If you need anything, I'm just a knock away or you can ask Dex if he's in, I'm sure he'd be happy to help. When you're finished, come find me and I'll file it, then you should have your I.D. tomorrow when you come back in."

"'Kay," Dean nodded. "Thanks,"

Deb nodded before she left him to it. He set the papers on the empty desk that only had a computer, lamp, phone, with a cup of pencils and pens. He sat heavily in the chair and reluctantly got to work on filling out the papers. Hopefully it wasn't too complicated and he remembered all of his cover. He'd spent these last few days trying to remember it all. Hopefully, it'd be worth it and he didn't go screw himself on the first 'official' day at the station.

It was taxing, but after three hours thereabouts, he had finished filling out the papers. He stood and his back cracked a little; oh, yeah, he and this chair were not going to become friends anytime soon. He took the pile and headed for Deb's office, but not before he bumped into some guy and nearly dropping all his papers, but he didn't manage to save a few; some scattered to the floor.

"Sorry," the guy said, russet hair and brown eyes.

At the sound of his voice, Dean felt the hairs on his arms stand, an invisible chill going through him. "It was my fault," he said in turn as he bent to pick up a page. 

The guy did the same and handed it to Dean. "You must be the transfer," he said. "I'm Dexter Morgan, blood guy." Dexter held out his hand.

Dean shuffled his pages and shook his hand. "Dean Casey. Are you--?" he started.

"My sister's the Lieutenant." He got that all the time.

"Ooh, that must be fun." Dean said, knowing what it was like to work alongside a sibling.

"Hours full," Dex said in deadpan agreement.

"It was nice to meet you, Dexter." Dean said, giving him a friendly smile despite the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"You too," Dexter told him as he watched Dean go into Deb's office.

He felt the Dark passenger inside of him stir in Dean's presence, something that Dex was sure had never happened before. He wasn't sure when he was just looking at the picture, but after literally bumping into Dean, Dex knew that he was going to be trouble and he was another predator. Not like himself exactly, but there was something about him-- and it had to be something big because it seemed to draw the Dark Passenger in an unexpected way. Anger, none like he had ever felt before, a hatred and recognition. Dex really was going to have to see if he could find anything else on Dean as well keep a close eye on him.

**dextural**

Dean was only able to breath again once he was actually two blocks away from Metro. He hadn't been there long, he filled out the paperwork and handed it into Deb, hoping that he filled out everything correctly. And yes, he was going to worry about that until he went in tomorrow and got his Metro I.D. 

From the papers and his and Franks research, the Metro P.D. had just recently had a huge case. It involved a nutty-professor and a student, acting out the seven revelations coming to the end of the world. Dean would say that they missed it by a long shot and were way the fuck off-- and if Cas ever found out about this, then they'd be glad he was in a padded room. The professor had been dead for a while for a while apparently, killed by the student, Travis. But after all the revelations, the killing stopped. The police never caught the guy-- he'd just disappeared.

This was his freshest trail, yet they were getting nowhere. How do you try and find a missing persons without going to the police, and not draw attention to yourself? Dean had had cases with missing persons, but in order to find them Dean had impersonated the F.B.I. And it wasn't as if he could go into the station and ask to see the case. Damn! He should have gone under as something different, like an... _I.A Agent._

Had he fucked himself so hard in the brain that he couldn't process how much easier that would have been? He could have openly investigated the fact that all these killers are going missing, and no one could do shit. He would have been _Internal Affairs_ bitches! But he'd been so out of if, his stomach probably lined with  alcohol, sleep deprivation and little more than mild depression-- what did you think the alcohol was for? He was an alcoholic that couldn't seem to get drunk anymore. But how could he not have thought of it? He had to be loosing it, badly for him to have gone for the harder approach. When if he'd thought of I.A he could have finished in probably a month or so.

But _nooo_ , he couldn't do that could he? He couldn't seem to talk things through anymore, he had no one to talk to after all. Dean had gotten Cas to make Lisa and Ben forget him, Bobby was dead, the wall in Sam's head was collapsed and he was mentally broken, Cas tried to fix it and instead only ended up getting some Lucifer in return; they've been placed in a mental institution. He had no one, other than Frank but that didn't count, because he was... well, Frank.

Dean shook his head, thinking of all those things wouldn't do him any good, for anything. He needed a drink, something strong and then he'd go to bed, wake up and head to 'work'. Frank would send him files soon on everyone that worked at Miami Metro, give him a clue to possible suspects.

**dextural**

When Dexter had gotten home, Jamie had had already put Harrison down for the night. He was glad because he wanted to use this time to go over the research on the department's new detective, Dean Casey. And Dexter had to admit that he was a very interesting man because there had to be a reason why his presence woke the Dark Passenger.

Dexter had used his computer at work to run the guy's name because it was connected to the Federal Network, whereas his home computer was not.

So, Dean Casey, age 32, born in Lawrence, Kansas. Mother, father and younger brother. Mother died of cancer, father of a stroke. Both brothers were adopted by uncle Bobby Sinclair. His younger brother Sam was an aspiring Lawyer. Dean in the academy when he married Lisa and adopted her son, Ben. Dean had graduated when tragedy hit and Bobby was killed in a drug store robbery. Dean's marriage didn't last long after that. Sam's career then went down the drain when his fiancée died and he thus lost his marbles and ended up institutionalized.

Dexter almost let out a feeling-whistle for Dean. Even he had sense enough to see how much shit Dean had been through, and still strong enough to work with crime and bodies. If Dexter had a soul, or emotions, then he would feel sympathetic. But Dexter did have enough knowledge and experience with humans to be truly mystified at how resilient they can be to horrible transgression that they're victim to. Rita was just one example, and now he could probably put Dean there too.

His service record seemed fine, nothing stood out. There was nothing here that could point to any reason as to why Dexter's Dark Passenger would be interested in Dean, his blood and his death.

Dexter was a predator, killing those that deserved it, but killing nonetheless, he supposed. Dean had that way about him as well, a predator, and maybe that was what drew the Dark Passenger.

Maybe it would help if he was in Dean's presence for more than five seconds.

**dextural**

Dean went through the metal detector once again, but when he passed the front desk, the same cop that was there yesterday, handed him his I.D. key card. So it was now official, he was a detective for the Miami Metro Police Department.

"Casey," Deb called before he could get to his desk.

Dean stopped and stepped into her office. "Yes, lieutenant?"

"Since you're now officially a detective here, I have a case for you."

Dean raised his brows, this was moving along quick, wasn't it.

"Just got the call, I'll give you the address." She jotted something down on a sticky note and tore it off handing it to him.

Dean took it. He was opening his mouth to ask things such as, how was he going to get there and what not? Suddenly feeling out of his league.

"Dexter!" Deb shouted suddenly.

Dean looked over his shoulder and found Dexter in mid step, he stopped and twisted on his heel.

"Yes?" he raised his brows.

"A case just came in," Deb told him. "There’s blood at the scene, Det. Casey had the address, so could you give him a ride?"

Dexter's eyes flicked to Dean for a second before going back to Deb. "Sure, I'd be happy to. Just let me grab my kit."

"Good," Deb grinned at him.

Dexter turned back and headed to his office.

"Everything's the same 'round here." Deb told him. "The procedure and all that shit." 

"Right."

"And if you need to know anything, just ask Dex. He works in the lab, but he's with the investigating." She encouraged him.

And Dean felt _loads_ encouraged.

**dextural**

Dexter hadn't been sure when the opportunity for him to be around and observe Dean would come and he wouldn't look suspicious, but he was glad that this chance came so quick. If he had to sit around and wait, it would be like an itch between his shoulders blades, one that he couldn't reach. He had to thank Deb for this one though, driving Dean to the scene then having the chance to observe the man while he worked-- it would serve his own purpose as well as see if this guy was a good fit for his sister.

Dean was silent on the car ride to the crime scene. He knew that Dexter was next to him driving, but Dean could _feel_ him there too; like a hot poker held to close to his face. This guy was different, he wasn't sure how yet, it was just a feeling, but the guy hid whatever it was. A skill that  rivalled even Dean's.

Before Dean knew it, they were at the crime scene and he and Dexter both got out of the car at the same time, Dexter grabbing his kit from the backseat.

The location that they ended up at a flower shop, it was unexpected because who would have thought a crime would be committed here? Dean obviously didn't. There was the yellow tape blocking of the store and a little bit in either direction of the store, there was two police cars, four police men, three C.S.Is, plus Dexter who had already gone in.

Dean took a breath, the first that he'd need to do was talk to any witness before he went inside. This was just like any other job, he wasn't a real officer of the law, he was a fabricated one. So just do what he would normally do any other time when he was on the hunt-- but instead of odd questions, do the normal ones.

And that was what he did, he slipped into it quite easily, it nearly felt like old times-- like he hadn't dipped himself in shit. So he'd talked to the people behind the yellow tape, even with a little note-book because he was all professional-like. He saw a camera on the next shop over and asked one of the officers to see if he could ask the owner for tapes. The officer nodded and Dean finally went inside, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

Dean didn't like flowers; sure they were pretty-- he supposed-- but they stank like pollen. He scrunched his nose, that was all that he could smell. The front room was trashed, seriously so. All the flowers were on the floor, crushed. The refrigerator door were smashed and so were the flowers inside. Someone was pissed and this kind of reminded Dean of a ghost Blitzer. There was no cash from the register taken so this wasn't a robbery. There was no body in the front room, but he could see some smear on the door to the back, as well as footprints from someone trying to kick it in. 

Dean made his way back there, careful of the flowers and broken glass underfoot. The back was little better in state, but the body on the floor put it back under. She was just a kid, not even passed twenty-five and to Dean, that was young-- anyone under his age was a kid to him. She had on an apron with the store's name and design on it, green, but was now covered in blood. It looked like she was beaten with bare fists, but he could see how torn up her bare arms looked.

Dexter was back here as well, he'd finished taking the pictures that he needed and the samples to run, and was now surveying the room-- or in actuality, the blood. There was quite a bit pooled around the body, but drops of it were scattered across the floor, table, desk and even the walls. Someone had a party back here that he wasn't privy to.

"Got anything?" Dean asked from the doorway.

Normally, if Dexter were normal, he would have given a start at the sudden intrusion, but the Dark Passenger had been alerted to Dean's presence when the man stepped into the shop and that in turn informed Dex.

"She was beaten pretty bad with what one can assume was bare knuckles," Dexter said.

"The perp would definitely show some self damage from the work he did on her," Dean stated in agreement.

"But that wasn't what killed her," he informed though. "She's covered in defensive wounds, under all that blood it looks like a knife, probably a box cutter. But then she was also stabbed-- and box cutters aren't ideal for that." he slipped and he waited to see what Dean's reaction would be, because only someone with knowledge would know something like that.

But Dean only gave him a glance. He was quiet for a moment and Dexter found himself watching the man from the corner of his eye. But Dean was quiet for a moment as he thought this through.

"This doesn't looked planned to me," Dean voiced his thoughts slowly, "It seemed heat of the moment. The place is trashed in a rush of anger and no cash was taken. He was pissed enough to kick down a door, but not prepared enough to have a weapon on hand. So he grabs the closest thing that would do the most damage."

Dexter was staring at him fully, the Dark Passenger as well as himself, witness to the mind of Dean Casey whirring to a conclusion and pretty quickly too.

"And what are always in a flower store?" Dean asked him, but his expression said he already knew and with one look at him so did Dexter.

"Scissors," they said at the same time.

"Did anyone find a pair?" Dean asked.

Dexter shook his head.

"Then he must've took it with him," Dean said, "either kept it or ditched it. If the camera in the store next door didn't catch the perp, then I bet fingerprints would do; I'd just have to run each hit down."

"She put up a fight," Dexter comment helpfully. "I might be able to get some DNA from under her nails, or even some on the cuts."

Dean found himself grinning at Dexter. "I'll meet you at the car," and he left Dex there with raised brows.

Dean told the same officer for the tapes to search garbage cans, dumpers and drains for a pair of scissors for the next three blocks on either side and on both sides of the street. He knew that the officer would have liked to say "fuck no!" but couldn't and wouldn't, it was their job to search for the evidence with Dean detected things though, wasn't it?

With that done, he went back to Dexter's car. He really felt excited; this was so totally different than investigating monster attacks. This was some real shit and he wasn't a fake-fed, but instead a real-detective. So yes, this had a different appeal, not to mention the fact that he was actually going to get paid for once in his life.

**dextural**

Over the next three days Dean investigated the shit out of this homicide, and he could do that openly and freely without fear of being caught because his badge was real bitches!

The video from the store next-door was useless, so he ran down the owners off all the customers that had been in the shop with what he could assume was since last night because that was when the victim had been killed, and discovered that morning three days ago. It was tiring, but then he came across this guy who was about to piss his pants when he found Dean on the other side of the door. It wasn't too long after that that the guy confessed.

Apparently this kid's sister was in the hospital after being in a car accident that killed both his parents-- harsh-- and he wanted to get her flowers. He went to the shop to get his sister's favourite flower, the tiger lily. The shop had run out and the kid just got so angry. He grabbed the scissors from the counter and just went after the girl. He'd lost both his parents in one go and his sister was in the hospital in a coma, Dean just guessed that everything must have been building up and the fact that he couldn't get his sister her favourite flowers made him snap-- that flower girl was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Poor kid; all three of them.

But Dean got his guy. And then he wrote his report which kinda sucked, but he felt proud of himself when he handed it into Deb.

And during those three days, he had forgotten about the whole reason why he was there in the first place and the fact that he wasn't a real-detective. He was Dean Winchester not Dean Casey. This wasn't real. He got an earful from Frank about it, but then he wrapped himself in the files of the every officer and lab tech at Metro.

So, Captain LaGuerta and Sergeant Batista were married but got divorced. Detective Quinn was a transferred years ago and subject of an I.A. investigation. Masuka's the lead forensics investigator. Sergeant Doakes used to be a detective but was killed a while ago (Dean assumed that it was his desk that he was now occupying), there'd been a serial killer, the Bay Harbour Butcher, and Doakes was it (Dean needed to look into that; it could be a lead on something). Deb was promoted from detective to lieutenant at the start of the D-Day Killer. Detective Anderson was a transfer just like Dean. And then there was Dexter Morgan... this was the guy that Dean had a real interest in, so he had had Frank find everything possible on the guy.

Dexter and his older brother witnessed the murder of their mother when he was three, and left in a shipping container filled with blood for two days. Soon afterwards, Dexter was adopted by a cop named Harry. His adopted mother died of cancer, and then his father when Dex was nineteen. His brother Brian, turned into a killer, the Ice Truck Killer, and tried to kill Deb when Dex stopped him. He then married his girlfriend Rita and conceived a kid, but soon after she became a victim to the Trinity killer-- his kid left in a pool of _her_ blood.

Unlike Dexter, Dean gave a whistle, " _Whoa,"._

This guy's past and his own were really similar.

They'd both lost their parents. Dexter's brother had turned into a killer; while Dean's had gone through so much shit (loosing his girlfriend, getting addicted to demon blood, going to hell and then loosing his mind). Dexter marrying, but loosing her though he gained a son; Dean had had Lisa and Ben, but they'd been too hurt by him and so he erased their memories of him and lost them both. Dexter still had his sister and his son; but Dean had lost Bobby, and technically had lost Sam and Castiel.

Dean had never in his life met someone that had things happen that were so similar to his own, and Dean was a little winded. This would explain the feeling that he got that Dexter was covering some shit up, shoving that crud down deep. That was what Dean was doing and he was on the edge of falling apart, but Dexter had a sane sister and _son-_ \- that was something that Dean knew that he'd never get. So yes, Dean was somehow a little jealous of Dexter; he got a normal job, a healthy sister with whom he was close... and his son.

Dean tried to shake those thoughts away; he was linking himself into this and that was a huge fucking no-no! It wasn't the reason why he was here, this was a hunt-- albeit not a normal one. He needed to keep his head in the game and focus on the information about this Bay Harbour Butcher that Frank was going to send him tomorrow; that could be the lead that he needed on this hunt. 

**dextural**

Dexter was impressed with Dean, but the Dark Passenger had an opposing feeling.

The past month that Dean had been at the department, the Dark Passenger had been out of control; it was like it recognized Dean somehow. That sent Dexter on the thought of the possibility that Dean had a Dark Passenger as well. That maybe since Dean transferred, that his own Dark Passenger was going to have an enemy. Dexter thought this because what the Dark Passenger made him feel was not friendly, but maybe the most sinister thing Dexter had ever come by. It was telling him that he must destroy Dean Casey now, now or he would ruin everything-- everything that the two of them had build ever since he was nineteen. But Dexter couldn't do that, as far as he was concerned, Dean was innocent. But because the Dark Passenger was ragging him, he knew that it wouldn't stop until he watched and waited on Dean-- and saw something worthy of bringing him under their knife upon a table surrounded in sheets of plastic.

**dextural**

Dean was finding it way to easy to get distracted. How could he not? Murders were happening around every corner it seemed and there weren't enough detectives. It seemed as if the lieutenant kept sending him to scenes with blood, and therefore along with Dexter-- who'd become Dean's main source of transportation for work. And had grown used to Dexter's presence, having the guy next to him was no longer like a hot poker too close to his eye and the hair on his arms and the back of his neck rose. In Dean's line of work, that was never a good thing because it meant that he was getting attached-- not to Dexter, but the situation that he was in. 

He was getting used to being a real detective that worked in an actual police department, and that was mental of him-- none of this was **real** , but he was desperate enough for something stable that he stopped worrying about that fact. He'd been here over a month and on every hunt he made sure that he didn't stay over a month, and he's never broken that rule until now.

Fuck, now he was breaking a lot of rules.

But he supposed that slowly but surely he was making headway on the original reason as to why he'd come to Miami in the first place. The police thought that Doakes’ was the Bay Harbour Butcher, but Dean didn't think so much. This vigilante didn't only go after serial killers that were on the polices' radar, but even ones that weren't. A priest had gone missing a long time back, and Dean discovered that children had gone missing from the orphanage that he'd taught music at, but then one night he'd gone missing and the children stopped going missing. His car was discovered abandoned at a wrecked house, and there, the missing children, all seven buried in the garden outside. And still after Doakes’ was killed, stuff like this kept on appearing, there was too many for Dean to keep ahead of or even level with.

It was fucking insane. This vigilante must have been doing this for years, he was good too. People stopped looking for the real Bay Harbour Butcher because they thought he was someone else, he was on no ones radar-- except Dean's. But there was nothing that he could find to link anyone to these, it was so clean. There was no blood at all, nothing of DNA, no bodies-- the BHB cut his victims up and dumped them into the harbour's bottom. Dean figured that he was still doing that, but switched his dumping zone.

So that wouldn’t mean that whoever this vigilante was, they'd need a boat in order to deliver the bodies to the bottom of the harbour? Frank was going to be pissed when he got another call for information, every cop in Miami Metro that own a boat-- any boat. Frank had been in keyboard overdrive, doing all Dean's research for him because he wasn't a hacker. But Dean on the other hand, this was like a fucking vacation-- something that he never got. He actually felt safer being a pretend-real detective, than a hunter. This was the first time that he'd gone longer than two days without being thrown into a wall, and it was fan-fucking-tastic... Glorious even. He felt... not happy per say, but... smitten where he was. He'd never felt that before-- unless you counted the time when he was under four years of age. He never thought that he would, not after everything that he'd been through in such a short period of time-- but there it was; smitten.

He was _so_ fucked.

**dextural**

Dexter had followed Dean to his motel the night before and now he was staked outside tonight, waiting in the shadows for Dean to leave his room. The Dark Passenger wouldn't let up, it was like a constant nagging-- as if it were his mother on about cleaning his room (but that never happened because Dexter was always squared away). And now that it had entered his mind of the possibility that Dean had a dark backseat driver as well, he had to see for himself whether or not it were true-- so if he watched and waited, then maybe he could understand what the Dark Passenger's problem with Dean was. And if in fact Dean was guilty of something, he would have someone to wrap in plastic.

It was dark by the time that Dean left his room, which was good for Dexter because he'd have the cover of night. He didn't rush across the street-- that would be idiotic and drawn unwanted attention to himself-- instead he walked across casually, his hands in his pockets and with purpose. He didn't try and disguise his destination, and instead headed straight for Dean's door. He gave a cursory glance at his surroundings to see if anyone was around-- in places like this even if someone did see something it wasn't likely that they would come forward\-- but he did anyway, one can never be too careful, especially with his hobby. He crouched in front on the door and picked the lock, something that he'd picked up and had been useful in his hunts in gathering information. He slipped through the door before quickly shutting and locking it behind him. He'd put gloves on before he'd entered, leaving prints-- even if Dean didn't notice his break in-- would not be the best of ideas.

Dexter switched on his flashlight and shone it around the room; it was a typical motel room: two single beds, a little kitchen table with two chairs, a small TV with rabbit ears, and dirty carpet. But Dean had added his own things, such as the unmade bed, the fast food wrappers covering the table, towels in the bathroom, some clothes on the floor, two suits on hangers hanging from the shower rod, along with four different ties-- and quite a few empty bottles of alcohol. There was a laptop on the table along with a few files; that was where Dexter went first. He took a seat in the chair at the table and opened the computer, the screen flickered on and he was in. 

Dean had put the computer to sleep and left his e-mail logged; leaving Dexter in luck. It should have been obvious to Dexter right then and there that Dean couldn't possibly be stupid enough to leave this open if he was indeed participating in some sinister deed-- and Dexter knew this for a fact because Dean was in no way an idiot. But he searched through them anyway.

Dean's e-mail name was _fluffybunny_00@yahoo.ca_ and the only other person that he  communicated with was _camper_access@yahoo.ca_ , there were loads and the files that they contained were large. There was a new e-mail, one that had yet to be opened. Dexter furrowed his brows as he looked at the subject title, the letters were scrambled and didn't make sense... encrypted? And now that he looked at the other, he discovered that despite the fact that they had been selected previously, they were encrypted as well. So maybe Dean _did_ have something to hide, enough so to encrypted them. Curious-er and curious-er. Dexter could feel the Dark Passenger snicker in triumph. Dexter ignored it, this didn't mean anything-- everyone had something to hide-- him especially.

Dexter couldn't delve into what Dean might be hiding just yet, he'd been here long enough and couldn't risk staying more; not having a clue to when Dean might be back. He closed the laptop and made sure that it and the chair that he sat in were in the same place before he checked out the window to make sure that the coast was clear. He left, locking the door behind him. 

Dexter could feel the Dark Passenger growl deep inside of him in its anger, wanting Dexter to stay hidden in Dean's room longer and put a blade to the man when he came back to the motel. Dexter ignored it, he wasn't going to do anything to Dean and anyway, maybe Dean protected his e-mail in case people like Dexter came snooping. He disappeared the way he'd come, wondering what he was going to do next and why Dean was still in a motel; he'd been in Miami for a month and Dexter knew for a fact that there were apartments available-- fuck, there was even an apartment vacancy in his own building.

And why would he even bring up that fact? As if he wanted Dean to move near him! What a stupid insult. He didn't know what this was, or what Dean was for that matter. Though Dexter had read his file, the man was still a mystery to him and the Dark Passenger seemed to be getting emotionally involved with its quest to destroy Dean. Maybe it was because it seemed that whenever there was a murder, Dean was carpooling with him-- this fact because Deb was the one that assigned Dean those cases-- it felt like she was forcing Dean onto him for some reason, and he was starting to feel suffocated by the fact. Dexter wasn't sure how Dean felt about this fact, though they always seemed to be together at work, they never discussed anything other than the case that they were working. And Dean, Dean seemed to be relaxing into the rhythm of it and Dexter wasn't sure how he felt about this-- the Dark Passenger was not helping him at all-- but the good thing about having Dean around was the fact that the Dark passenger was focused on him and not going after murderers like usual; this also gave him more of a chance to focus on Harrison-- and that was what he was going to do right now, he was going to forget Dean and he was going to go home and he was going to tuck his son into bed, and read him a story.

**_dextural_ **

Dean had needed to make a supply run; toilet paper, shampoo... alcohol (obviously)-- he'd only been gone about twenty-minutes, but when he entered his room at the motel, he knew that someone had been there between the time that he left. Nothing was out of place per say, and even if it was, he probably wouldn't have noticed it, but it was the carpet that alerted him.

In all motels, every room that Dean had ever stayed in, the carpets were just disgusting-- plain and fucking simple. He never walked on them in his bare or socked feet for that matter, always boots; but when he did, he always made that the soles were clean as not to track anything in and therefore, leave it undisturbed for any intruders to mess with. So when he walked in and glanced at the carpet as he set his bags down, he knew that someone had been in his room. He saw the boot prints that were different in design than his own, as well as a little wet dirt mixed in the imprint. They weren't here anymore, that much was obvious, and he cleared each room to make sure that nothing was taken. He came upon his laptop last and when he sat and opened it, the screen lighting up and his e-mail coming up; he sucked in a sharp breath. Had he actually left this open? _Had he left this **open**?! _ He had, he'd left his fucking e-mail account with Frank open! What was wrong with him? 

He checked to see when the last time he clicked an e-mail was, a breathed out a little breath of relief; no one had checked it in the time that he was at the store-- and even though these files were encrypted, it was a small relief. He had done something so stupid, so amateur. He was getting comfortable, and that made you put your guard down and made you sloppy-- what just happened was proof of that. He should have hide the laptop, logged off and shut it down-- and if they hadn't been encrypted, who would have known what might happen. Someone was suspicious of him, enough so to follow him to his motel room and go through his things while he was away-- and skilled enough to leave virtually no trace. But who could it be? the vigilante that he was searching for, could they be on to him? He wasn't sure about that, if anything, he knew how to cover his tracks. 

Dean checked his e-mail again and noted that he had got a new one from Frank while he was gone, and that had gone unchecked by whomever was in his room. He clicked on it and mentally put it through the decryption that he'd memorized from Frank. It was the list of all those employed at the Miami Metro P.D. that owned a boat. It wasn't that long and even though he recognized some of the names on the this, he'd have to do some of his own recon in order to find the right perp-- hopefully it'll be the vigilante that he had been searching for and he could finally get this hunt over with.

**dextural**

Dean hadn't been able to dig deeper into the lives on the people on the list because at about three in the morning he got called into to work. He didn't bother to shower and instead just threw on a suit and grabbed a tie before heading to the scene. It was crowded and seemed like there was at least a handful of lab techies scurrying around; he must've got called later than he thought because he saw the lieutenant, Batista and Anderson along as well.

Dean flashed his I.D. to the officer at the tape before he slipped under it and into the crime scene. It was a small warehouse down by the docks, just serving to remind Dean of his list. He snapped on a pair of latex glove and put on those protective booties over his dress shoes so as to not contaminate the crime scene. He went through the single side door, and was a little speechless as to what he just walked in on. 

Dean had expected the place to look like all the other warehouses that he had seen, but instead of grey concrete and brick, everything was painted a sterile white and there were bright lights that were hooked overhead as well as on individual strobe lights that were pointed towards the center. It caused Dean to blink for a moment before he was able to see the reason as to why he was called in so early. And he did, of course, and he wasn't sure what to think-- he'd never seen something like this before.

In the middle of the warehouse stood a bare mannequin with shoulder-length blond hair, raised up on a small twenty-centimetre high platform. Its feet weren't straight and instead angled to the left, its torso following, and its head in the same design. Its arms were raised together, one palm in the other, cupped; its chin tilted towards them. Its hands were overflowed with blood, puddling in its cupped palms and running down its arms, the rest of its body was spattered with blood as well. It pooled around the platform and trailed in each direction in little streams before it looked like someone took a brush to the dividing tendrils of blood and connected them like a spider web. At the end of each point, was a small pile of neatly staked organs and bones.

"Did you see the mannequin?"

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin at the suddenness of Dexter's voice next to him; he was holding his camera in gloved hands, his shoes covered.

"It's covered in human skin, one complete piece without any blemishes." Dexter continued when Dean just stared. "All the organs and bones are accounted for and as far as I'm able to tell, they're all in one piece as well. All this blood... three quarts thereabouts."

"You a coroner or somethin'?" Dean finally asked.

_Or Something..._ Dexter shrugged his shoulders. "I dabble," he said, and he definitely did but he was very intrigued by this display of art. And it must have taken painstaking hours of uninterrupted time to complete. Cleaning the place out, painting everything, setting up the lights-- and the time that it must have taken to dismember the victim's body with doing next to none damage to the body, and then collecting the blood completely untainted-- before setting up this quant little presentation. "Whoever did this, has some major skill." Dexter voiced; he watched Dean form the corner of his eye as he stood next to the man.

Dean was speechless, really; that had never happened before. A _human_ did this, a person-- this was fucking sickening! He felt a silent shiver go through him; no monster that he had ever  encountered made him do _that._ "So someone with a surgical degree?"

"Not necessarily," Dexter comment, "You don't need a degree to be good with a knife _or_ have knowledge of the human body."

Dean had to give Dexter that one, the guy did have a point; Dean was good at this job and was an excellent shot, but he never really went to an academy or had special weapons training-- so literally, this could be anyone-- and there was no way that this first killing, was going to be that last. No one went through this much trouble-- to draw such attention to himself-- to just do it one. No, this was going to happen again. And this was just what Dean neede right now, just as he was getting back on track to the original reason to why he was in fucking Miami in the first place.

"So, anybody, really, in the whole of Miami." Dean clarified.

"I'd say so at the moment, yeah." Dexter agreed. "But once we disassemble _this_ , and run the DNA sample, hopefully getting a match on the victim, it could narrow things down."

"Or make them more complicated," Dean grumbled.

"Or that." Dex nodded.

"Oh, it's going to be _or that._ " Dean swore.

Dexter looked at him with raised brows.

Dean stared back. "What? It's four in the morning," he grumbled.

Dexter could understand that. Though he may only need a few hours of sleep at night, others are not the same; though he suspected that even if Dean had gone to bed at an early hour, he wouldn't have slept any more than he had this night. It was a fact, something that Dexter was able to tell; a hazard of having no soul was not being able to react emotionally to things, so since he was a kid he'd been studying people, learning certain mannerisms-- so he was an expert at studying and reading people. Dean was just as good at hiding. But at the moment he could see that Dean was a little vulnerable for whatever reason.

"Is that all?" Dean asked.

"For now," Dexter admitted.

Dean jerked his head in acknowledgement. "I'll leave you to it then," he said, giving the scene one last once over before he turned and went out the way he came, mumbling under his breath gruffly, " _Stupid_ _murderers can't wait  till fucking 9 like the rest of us, can't have some fucking decency in your fucking putrid cunt excuse of an existence!"_

Dexter had watched him go with raised brows. Wow. He'd been doing that a lot since he got here. Dean was pissed and upset. Dexter was smart enough to know that this wasn't about the fact that he got a call at three in the morning, but it was something else. He tried to pick his brain for what might be the answer, but couldn't come to any conclusion. He shook his head as he felt the Dark Passenger gloomy in the back seat. He lifted his camera and snapped a few more shots of the scene; he didn't have time for the Dark Passenger's moods or even Dean at the moment, no, he had a murderer to murder.

dextural

A month. It's been a month since the mannequin corpse and there'd been no headway at all. DNA on the victim didn't come back with any matches from Dexter's database, fingerprints were a no go as well, there were no missing persons that matched the dead woman's reconstructed features either. All the blood, organs and bones belong to the victim, now designated Jane Doe. Dean had tried to find any documentation on who owned or rented the warehouse, but he could only find that last owner who'd died two years ago-- so the warehouse was just that, abandoned. Dean had found a camera close to the warehouse, but none of the _actual_ building; there was no suspicious activity or people that he could find. There was nothing, no evidence of the killer or anything that linked anyone to this victim-- it was as if neither existed-- they were like ghosts.

And Dean didn't know why, but that had gotten him thinking somewhere in there, that could a human _really_ do something like that? The truth of the matter was that he knew it was probably true, but it brang him back around to the beginning; if humans were like this, then why did he stop the  apocalypse? Was the world really worth saving, or did he just do because of Sam? But still, he found that he'd broken out some of the old equipment, and went back to the warehouse.

There was no longer an officer posted outside the warehouse to preserve the scene, the case all but been shoved back on the back burner after a month with no leads. The yellow tape was torn down and covered in dirt as a months weather took hold. The Miami Metro crime scene sticker on the door was still intact so he knew that no one had been in there, why would they want to? But it was government property now, so whoever was caught trespassing would be charged.

Dean looked around him through the darkness of the night, only lit buy a few lights near the water, before he took out his knife and cut the sticker to open the door. He’d stealthily grabbed a sticker from the office and had it in his pocket so that he could replace it on his way out and no one would be privy to his midnight visit. He opened the door and slipped into the darkness before closing it behind him, not noticing dear Dexter and the Dark Passenger stalking from the deep shadows. 

With latex covered hands, he fumbled for the flashlight in his bag. His plan was to check EMF and see if he could find sulphur\-- anything, once he got the light on at least. So maybe this wasn't a serial killer like he'd thought, maybe this asshole beast just had to try some fucked up murder like a kid doing a B 'n' E, but how in the fucking cunt could this have been a kid or someone's first? There was no trace of anything, the killer didn't exist and the victim was literally _nobody_.

"Fuck," Dean finally got the flash light and turned it on; the beam bounced around the sterile white walls. " _Fuck,"_ he repeated, " **Fuck!** " So apparently this _was_ a serial killer. 

The beam of his flashlight enveloped the mannequin with short dark hair that was in the middle of the room once again, on that small platform. It was naked like the first one, but this time it was male. It had taken a knee, its back strait while its head was tilted upward at the ceiling, its arms were raised with its palms pressed flat against each other, pointed up-- as if he were praying to the skies. The blood from the previous victim was no longer on the floor, cleaned away and replaced with the current victim's blood. The blood didn't cover the victim, but was instead polled around the platform like a lake in a perfect circle. And in that pool, the victim's bones and organs just like the first victim.

Dean looked at it for a moment, without the bright lights like before, shadows were cast ominously with the beam from his light. He found himself taking out his EMF and turned it on; the thing didn't even crackle. He knew, _knew_ that this wasn't a supernatural death in the first place, he was just fooling himself. He wanted to believe badly that there was a reason he went through all the fucked up shit that he did, for a reason-- why he didn't just give up while he had the actual fucking chance to do so.

He shook his head, he couldn't think about past shit when this was happening now. He knew that he had to call this in, but was fearful of what might happen to him being here unauthorized; broke the seal to the scene. He put away the EMF and back out the door that he came in, glaring at the murder scene with which he discovered

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" Dean cursed.

Dexter watched as Dean came out and stood there for a moment, frustrated as fuck-- even more so than the month before when the first victim was discovered. _Something must have happened in there_ , he mused. Dean paced for a second, a few this way and then a few that way while a hand was pulling at his hair like he was trying to think something through but was getting nowhere. Dexter could feel the Dark Passenger chattering in the recesses of his mind _that this was his chance to take Dean out, do it now while he isn't paying attention._ Dexter gritted his teeth and tried to shut the Dark Passenger out of his head. He was getting sick of this, the Dark Passenger was becoming a nuisance and a distraction. As Dean finally pulled his cell from his pocket, a look of distress on his face as he  dialled; Dexter knew that it was his time to disperse.

He'd find out what was in that warehouse that made Dean seem pissed and flustered and he'd find out why Dean had come here in the first place.

dextural

Dexter did find out, not too long after he left Dean at the warehouse. His cell rang and he knew who it was without looking at the screen.

"God damn it, Dexter!" was Deb's usual greeting for him it seemed, whenever he got a call in the early a.m's. "That fucking asshole is at it again, get down to the warehouse pronto." and she hung up.

Dexter never even got to say _hello_ , didn't get to remark cleverly; only Deb.

He changed his clothes and drove to the warehouse, it was the same as last time. Patrol cars were there, lab tech scurrying in and out of the door, Angel-no-relation was there and so was Anderson. He spotted Deb a little ways from the scene, out of earshot of the other officers as she reamed Dean out. Dexter, with his kit and camera, inched closer; eager to hear Dean's explanation and deciphering whether or not it was the truth.

"What the fuck were you doing, Casey?!" Deb growled in hushed tones.

Dean's jaw muscles bunched as he forced himself not to yell back or make a snide remark that would land him in more shit than he was already in now. The best way to lie was to tell half truths. "It's been bothering me, the no evidence-thing and the fact that it was just one."

Deb narrowed her eyes. "You came here without authorization, and _off the clock._ "

"I know, and I apologize-- but if I hadn't come here, then that victim wouldn't never have been found." Dean defended reasonably.

Dexter had to agree with him there, they'd all but closed this scene, this case had been in the process of becoming a cold case. If Dean hadn’t come back here for whatever reason, then they might never have found this second victim and the case never would have been renewed.

Deb seemed to agree. It looked like she really wanted to kick something, her arms crossed over her chest, but she reeled it in and Dexter felt proud-- she was getting good with controlling her spontaneous-anger issue; being lieutenant was doing her some good.

"Did you touch anything?"

Dean shook his head. "Just the seal on the door."

Deb furrowed her brows. "It wasn't broken?"

"Nope,"

"Then how the fuck did he get in there?"

Dexter found that to be a good question as well and decided that it was time that he made himself known. "Hey, Deb." he said as he walked to the pair. "Dean."

Dean jerked his head in acknowledgment.

"So is it the same killer?" Dexter asked.

"Looks like it," Deb cursed. "Fuck!"

Dexter gave her a look and she glanced at Dean who stared back expressionless.

"You," Deb point at Dean. "Are lucky that I'm not putting you behind a desk; because we need every man on this. But if you do this again, you _are!"_ she gave Dexter a glance before she blazed off back towards the warehouse.

Dexter looked at Dean with raised brows. "What'd you do to piss her off?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Breaking the seal on the crime scene without authorization."

"Colourful," Dex comment.

"Like a fucking rainbow," Dean's voice was void, and he walked from Dexter with his arms crossed over his chest.

Dex cocked his head as he watched the man disappear into the crowd of blue and bowling shirts. Dean’s voice had had a sarcastic edge it, but to Dexter's ears, he'd thought that it sounded beaten. He didn't let himself question why, it didn't matter; he just wanted to see what was in that warehouse.

Dexter forced back the grin of glee when he walked through the warehouse's side door; the killer may have eluded him last time, but here, he was going to find his something to track this bastard down.

**dextural**

The sun was setting and Dean found himself on a random bench, just staring at nothing in particular. It was useless. This killer was nobody; this second victim was no one either-- just as the first victim. DNA, facial recognition, prints and dental-- ran 'em through every database possible-- nothing. _Fucking **nothing**. _ He couldn't find the killer-- a simple person-- if he couldn't do that how was he supposed to stop the leviathans? 

The last time that Dean had let a few tears slip passed his defences was when Sam's head broke and Cas tried to fix it, but instead his brain got broke too-- both sharing equal-parts Lucifer and rooms across form each other. He found himself in barely discovered territory-- alone.

" _Why so glum, chum_?"

"Dude!" Dean jerked in surprise and shock as he found that suddenly sitting behind him was archangel turned trickster, Gabriel. "What?! Weren't you dead?"

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises!"

"What the fuck?"

"Hey! Watch it with the potty mouth," Gabriel scolding suddenly serious.

Dean stared at him open mouth. "I didn't start swearing til I met you."

"What? A guy can change."

"Not you."

"That hurts me, Dean. Right here," Gabe tapped a finger on his chest where his heart lay beneath.

Dean scoffed. "Last time I checked, that wasn't yours."

"Are you trying to pick a fight with me?"

Dean narrowed his gaze at the trickster. "Why are you here?" he growled.

"Whoa!" Gabriel held up his hands. "Bite my head off why don't you."

"Don't temp me," Dean threatened.

"Alright. Okay." Gabe gave in. "Just wanted to visit my favourite Winchester brother!" he flashed Dean a grin.

Dean barred his teeth. "Do you want me to stake you again."

"Of course not!" he sounded offended.

"Then tell me what the fuck you want."

"Why aren't you happy?" Gabriel asked, this time there was no joking, just a plain and simple question.

"What?" Dean said in surprise.

"Why aren't you happy?" the trickster repeated more slowly as of Dean were a idiot.

"What the fuck kind of question is that?" he demanded.

"A normal one."

"Why don't you think I'm happy?" Dean snarled. "Bobby's dead, Sam and Cas are in a hospital and lleviathans are running around eating people and claiming to be finding a cure for cancer!" 

"What's so bad about curing cancer?" Gabe asked in confusion.

" _Leviathan’s!" _ Dean said in a very 'duh' voice.

Gabriel shook his head. "Anyway..."

"Anyway?" Dean repeated.

" _Anyway,"_ Gabe said back. "You have _this_ , don't you?"

" _This_?"

"Yeah," Gabriel nodded. " _This._ " he stood up now as well and spread his arm, encompassing Miami around him. "Nice weather, _hot women_..."

"What?"

"Jesus, Dean! Did your brain melt? Hello, brain, are you in there?" he knocked on Dean's head.

Dean slapped his hands away, hard.

Gabriel took his hand back and took a step back from Dean and out of range-- despite being a powerful trickster.

" _What do you want?"_

"You like this, don't you? Being a cop,"

Dean stared a him. "You did this? This whole thing is one of your sick jokes!"

"No! This is real, Dean. I swear," he crossed his heart, but regretted it when Dean's green eyes blazed. "It is!"

"Then why're you _here_."

"I know you want this, Dean; it was your dream to be a cop-- ever since you were a kid. This is a great opportunity for you,"

"I don't know what you _mean_ , and what opportunity?"

"To catch a _serial killer,_ " Gabe informed with in a stage-whisper... and a wink.

" ** _What?!_** " Dean raged, grabbing the front of Gabriel's shirt. "You're killing people, for fun because you thought that I'd want it? Are you that fucking screwed up in the head?!"

"They're not real!" Gabe snapped. "How many times do I have to tell you that I can make things real out of thin air?"

"You're creating fake serial killers for the cops to chase when there are _real_ once fucking doing as they please because they police are being played?" Dean seethed. "You think all of this is one big joke, that all the world is your playground and humans are your toys-- we're not! The shit that happens here is real, the criminals here are real; no one needs you to fuck around and play games!" he shouted.

With some effort, Gabriel extracted himself from Dean's grip and smoothed the wrinkles from his clothing. "I take it back,"

"You better. Undo your fucking _serial killer_ , or the next time I plunge something into your fucking heart, **you'll never breath again!** "

"Touchy," Gabriel muttered as he snapped his fingers. "Done. There's hairs at the scene that will lead the cops to the killer."

"What,"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "A _real_ serial killer, Dean-o. Trust me, this guy's a real piece of work-- and he will be guilty as charged."

"This better pan out," Dean told him.

"Jeez, you're no fun."

Dean sucked in a breath, it shuddering under the force of his anger. "If you don't get outta my sight right now..."

"I'm gone," Gabriel assured him and this time he snapped with both his hands, disappearing in a flash.

Dean stared at the space where the trickster had been, trying to process what had just happened; he was dumbstruck-- his mind awhirl. Gabriel? Had he seen that right? That bastard was still kicking, _fuck_. He'd been going through all this grief, distracted from his original purpose for being in Miami because that stupid coward was the biggest dick of them all. Pfft. He didn't want to be a fucking cop, he hated them! Could he? No!

Dean's face scrunched up and his arms crossed over his chest; _dream-_ \- what did he have to dream about anymore? And yes, maybe he had dreamed about being a cop when he was four-- and that feeling had grew after Mary died because he _wanted the bad man who killed mommy to be gone too_. But that soon turned into something else when John had showed him the world of the supernatural full of monsters-- that was when he knew that he was going to destroy the fucking Yellow-Eyes that killed his mother. So down the drain his first ever dream went and he's never had one since.

Dean shook his head, he wasn't going to think about the past-- it never did him any good. Right now he needed to focus on the whole reason why he'd come here to this _place_ in the first place. Now that all his time wasn't focused on a _fake_ serial killer, he could focus on the list employees at Miami Metro.

**dextural**

Dexter couldn't shake the feeling that this had somehow been staged. You didn't go from Ghost Killer, to Leaving Hair at the Scene Killer. That didn't happen, not even rookies made a mistake like that. This killer had left no traces of himself, and his victims were untraceable. They were works of art, they were supposed to be a series-- one that now seemed to end too soon. There was a few hairs found in the blood, one had a root and they ran it through the system; their killer was there. 

A guy by the name of George Kindarson. He went to medical school but was soon kicked out for misconduct with the bodies-- not necrophilia. Instead he would dismember them, piece by piece instead of studying-- and the rest was not history because the rest was in the warehouse. It looked like he practiced at for a while, Det. Anderson located a storage unit that Kindarson bought and it was filled with all his practice subjects-- animals.

Dexter wasn't a big fan of them, as they weren't of him, but still...

Anyway, after what was calculated to be years, Kindarson had finally made his way up the ladder, upgrading his victims from animals to human.

Dexter had to say that the man was a true artist and unlike himself, put his work on display. But Dex had been disappointed nonetheless, Kindarson had been caught before he even really began, and the cops found him so quick afterwards that Dexter didn't even have to create a kill room and take Kindarson for himself. Disappointed Dexter. But he had other activities to fall on, like Dean-- something that the Dark Passenger agreed gleefully on.

**dextural**

Dean had been making some headway on his list, crossing person after person off the list. An obvious first choice for was Deputy Chief Matthews-- not for murder-- but for owning a boat; Matthews was all politics. Det. Batista had a speed boat, but there was no way that he was a killer. So he went through the list, as few as there were until he came across the name that interested him and the one that he could save for last; Dexter Morgan.

Since the first time that Dean had literally walking into Dexter on his first day, he knew that there was something about the other man that reminded him of something. Dean has had a lot of time and personal experience to hone in the skill of spotting a fake-r- he'd been fake since he was seven years old when John told him about the _things that go bump in the night._ He was an expert at shoving things down deep, letting them pile on but never rise to the top. He thought that he was pretty good at spotting liars or people who were trying to hide something. 

Dexter seemed flawless, but Dean knew that there was something-- he didn't get that chill when _just anyone_ was around. Dex had all the right emotions, did all the right actions and reaction to situations-- and he had a great relationship with his sister-- but there was somethin g familiar about the way he reacted that reminded Dean of something. It'd taken Dean some time, but he remembered what it was that it reminded him of and he felt sick to his stomach. 

The year before, when Sam had went to hell and then had come back... Soulless. Dean had knew that Sam was acting different, even if he acted the same-- he'd been in fucking hell-- Dean had acted different when he came back from hell. So Dean had left it, despite the chill that he got-- that was until they were on that hunt with the demigod who let people hear the truth if they ask. And that was when Dean discovered the truth, that he hadn't been seeing things when he was turned into a vampire and Sam just stood there watching with a smile-- that there was a reason why he got that chill whenever he was around Sam. Cas had brought him back from hell, but something went wrong and his soul stayed behind in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. That all this time everything Sam did was fact fake, that his emotions were not real-- that he'd thought it an opportunity when Dean was turned. Sam had eventually confessed that he planned everything he did, all the emotions that he expressed to what he knew Dean thought he'd react to the situation, and that it was exhausting. After that Sam stopped trying and Dean saw was someone without a soul was _really_ like-- he acted not unlike a demon. 

So the question here was: is Dexter just some soulless bastard or was he possessed by a demon?

With that question in mind, Dean knew that he was going to have to do some serious information gathering.

**dextural**

Dexter had to admit, Dean was very good at this. He never would have noticed that the other man was following him if it weren't for the fact that the Dark Passenger was obsessed with draining every drop of blood from Dean’s body and cutting up his corpse.

Dexter didn't let on that he knew that Dean was there, that'd just ruin this game of cat and mouse-- one that Dean didn't even know he was involved in. When Dexter had figured out that Dean was following him, he didn't let the other man know-- this was part of the game. This was the time when Dexter realized that Dean wasn't what he claimed to be. Sure, he had an investigator's eyes; knows the ins and outs of the law and detective work; and knew how to use a weapon better than some of the cops at Metro, but he was so rough around the edges, jagged even-- like he wasn't trained in an academy or a firing range. He definitely wasn't a cop, Dexter would bet he probably wasn't even in the government. He been in Miami for three months now and he was still in that same motel room; Dexter knows for a fact that there are a lot of apartments for rent. But if that was true, then who was Dean Casey-- if that was even his real name. He responded to it quite well, but that wasn't the point-- Dean wasn't who he said he was and now he was stalking Dexter. Does that mean he knew? Did he know that Dexter was the Bay Harbour Butcher?

Dexter knew that he couldn't let Dean catch him, he couldn't let the man stop his work-- so he was going to have to take care of Dean like he took care of murderers-- despite him not being guilty of anything. He felt the Dark Passenger rattle in his brain, an evil glee at the prospect of finally having Dean.

He was going to have to do this, sooner was better than later in this instance.

**dextural**

" _Shit!_ "

Dean cursed under his breath, looking around him but finding no sight of Dexter-- that man was like a magician! Did he know that Dean was trailing him, or was it just luck? Dean didn't think it was luck, Dexter was too smart and aware for that. If he was the BHB, then he'd probably check ever transfer and new hire that went through Metro-- that's what Dean would do-- and the guy did have the access. But was he suspicious of Dean like Dean was of him? That was the question, wasn't it. Was Dexter onto him, like he was onto Dexter? Dean wasn't sure of anything right now, but if the blood guy was onto him, then would it be better to split or stick around and try and exorcise this possible demon. And even now, Dean still didn't know if Dexter was possessed or not. If he was, he'd never met a demon who only killed the bad guys before-- _no_ demon in existence acted like that.

That was as far on the subject that Dean got because an arm wrapped around his shoulders from behind and before he could even react, the tip of a needle was stuck into the side of his neck and a latex covered thumb pushed down on the plunger. Dean gripped the arm across his chest for support as he legs gave out and his vision swam, starting to cloud. Dean had no idea what the fuck was in that syringe-- but it was _strong as shit!_ His back pressed against his assailant’s chest as the guy lowered him to the ground with muscular arms-- before Dean could see who it was, he was out-- but he had a deep  suspicion on who it was and that he was **fucked!**

**dextural**

Dexter had to find a quick place to set up his kill, but despite the pressure to find a perfect location-- he set up just right. This night would be perfect for Dean because it was a full moon tonight and the Dark Passenger was always especially eager on full moons. After he'd lost Dean's tail, he'd circled around and hit him with a dose of animal tranquilizers; he was out in a minute. He then carried-- more like dragged-- Dean to his car. The guy was compact, all muscle mass. Before driving to the kill room that he'd hastily put together. It was a little place that he'd found, off from the roads and neighbourhoods-\- Dean didn't seem like the kind of guy to go quietly or without a fight.

Dexter had covered the room in plastic, as well as the covered the windows, he set up a table for Dean and another for his tools and a few battery lamps to give the place some light. He secured Dean to the table with duct tape and cut away his clothes (revealing an odd symbol over his heart; as well as what appeared to be a burned hand on his right shoulder, but it was smooth and raised, in perfect condition; his body was covered in scars as well, ranging from years back to the months before he arrived in Miami to his months in Miami; there were knife wounds, stab wounds, gunshots, burn marks, claw marks-- everything. (Dexter couldn't help but be a little shocked); he had to beat the Dark Passenger back as he did the preliminary, it really not caring if Dexter was ready or if he did this right, it was giving off a kill or be killed vibe right now-- it felt _physically_ threatened with Dean around. Dexter wasn't sure that could be possible, the Dark Passenger wasn't something physical, it was a thing inside Dexter that couldn't be touched, wasn't it? Dexter found himself shaking his head, he didn't have time to think about complicated things like that at a time like this; he needed to focus on Dean-- get his mind in the game.

Dean seemed to find that one of the worst things was being drugged-- it wasn't a major occurrence with him; probably only happen to him twice before. He got more concussions than not, and those were just as worse. He had a pain emitting from the center of his brain, and he wanted so much to kept his eyes closed and roll over, burying his face into his pillow-- but he knew that that wasn't going to happen here. His _you're fucked_ warning bells were blaring in his brain, he needed to open his eyes. And he did, he peeled them open; he had to blink multiple times for his vision to become clear. The light in here-- wherever that was-- wasn't the best, almost like a bunch of flashlights were set up, he couldn't seem to move his head, only his eyes and standing next to him was Dexter Morgan, wearing rubber gloves and a black rubber apron.

"What the fuck," Dean voice was hoarse.

"Dean," Dexter looked down at him. "You were following me, why?"

"What?" he looked at him.

"You were following me and I want to know why." He repeated. He voice wasn't loud, but there was something in it.

"I think you know why." Dean tried to move, but found that he was really taped down; he didn't think that he'd be able to get out of this without someone’s help-- he was screwed. Just, maybe if he could convince Dexter that he wasn't a threat-- but he was in deeper than balls and it'll be hard to get out.

"I want you to tell me,"

Dean was quiet for a second. He wanted to seal his lips or yell at him, run his mouth like he always did, but he had no way to defend himself and no one was coming for him. So, he was just going to tell the truth-- or mostly the truth-- anything that might make his pathetic life last longer to finish this off.

"You're the Bay Harbuor Butcher, aren't you?" Dean told him.

Something flashed in Dexter's eyes. " _You've come to kill us,"_

Dean looked, Dexter's eyes weren't black, red, white or yellow like a demons, they didn't change colour at all-- so he wasn't a demon; but he saw something behind his eyes, something inside of Dexter watching through the guy's eyes like windows.

"I didn't come here to kill anyone," Dean told him. "I just wanted to find out who killing all the murderers."

"Why?" Dexter questioned him.

"Because I wasn't sure if it was a monster or not."

"And I'm the monster." Dexter agreed.

Dean tried to shake his head, but it was held in place. "No. I don't think _you_ are the monster, but whatever's _inside_ you is."

Dexter couldn't help the widening of his eye or the shock that he felt. Dean knew of the Dark Passenger that resided in him, but how? He could feel the pure panic of the Dark Passenger on the fact that Dean knew that it was there and it tried to get Dex to kill him **now!** Dex fought it; he needed to know more.

"What are you talking about?" Dexter demanded, his voice a little shaky.

"There's something inside you, isn't there." Dean told him. "Something that tells you to do bad things, makes you want it."

Dexter stared; the way he said it, the look in his eyes, he knew what he was saying. Dex wasn't sure what to do, no one knew what was inside him other than Harry and Brian, so how did Dean know? It was brought up again, the question of Dean having a Dark Passenger as well.

"I can get rid of it." Dean's voice was like a whisper as blood rushed through Dexter's ears-- or the sheer panic of the Dark Passenger.

"What?" he managed over all the noise.

"I'll get rid of it for you," Dean said. "You can keep killing, I don't care about that, I just came for whatever is inside of you."

And what was inside Dexter? Did Dean know? He knew that it wasn't a part of him, he never considered it _his_ Dark Passenger, just _the_ Dark Passenger-- something in the dark backseat that took control sometimes, but never fully, Dexter never allowed it to. He may be soul less, but that didn’t mean he wanted just anything filling up the vacancy in his body-- and especially the Dark Passenger. It was an unwritten rule in Harry's Code-- _never let it take complete control of you, you control it instead._

"Tell me what you know." Dexter demanded intently, his gaze narrowed as he stared down at Dean. The man didn't looked frightened that he could die at any moment, he seemed relaxed despite the situation that he was in, defenceless. It was like he was out on a hunt, watching and waiting for a deer to wander into his sights, smirking before he pulled the trigger and took the animal’s life-- and Dexter seemed to be that deer, or rather the Dark Passenger was.

"You were in a traumatic experience when you were a kid, right?" Dean said rhetorically.

"You went through my file,"

"You went through mine too, didn't you?" Dean raised a brow.

"I know you're not who you say you are." Dexter admitted. 

"You're right," Dean smirked.

"Who are you then?"

"Nobody,"

Dexter ground his teeth. "I don't like being played."

"I'm not playing, I'm no longer who I used to be, they doesn't exist anymore; I'm now considered Dean Casey."

"I want to know your _real_ name." Dexter growled.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dean Winchester. What does it matter? You try and look me up and I don't exist."

"You've said. Now tell me what you know about the Dark Passenger." Dexter instructed, twirling one of his knives in his fingers.

_The Dark Passenger_. Dean didn't even spare it a glance. "When you're a kid, you're susceptible and vulnerable to supernatural elements and monsters-- but going through a traumatic event like you did, left your soul open like a free sign. A spirit-- a dark one-- must've slipped in and taken control of your soul. How it hasn't gained complete control is  beyond me." He said that last bit more to himself than anything-- and it sounded like it held a hint of respect in it.

"What does that even mean? I don't have a soul,"

"It means," Dean said, "That this _Dark Passenger_ of yours, is not yours-- its not you, Dexter. I know what real darkness is, and I know what not having a soul looks like; you _do_ have a soul, but some bastard just possessed it."

Dexter was shaking his head, what was Dean talking about? Monsters and spirits-- like for real? He didn't get why he was so against it; there was the Dark Passenger and then Harry's visits. But the Dark Passenger was a part of him-- albeit separately\-- but he never thought that it could ever go away. 

"How to you know all this?" Dexter didn't like this feeling, that someone else knew more about the Dark passenger than Harry or he did. He felt like a child, with an adult trying to explain something very grown up to him so that he may understand. Dean’s expression said that he didn't agree to this, why did he have to be the one explaining this-- while he was naked and secured to table in god knows where-- but what other choice did he have? If Dexter didn't get what he wanted, he could easily slice Dean up and there was nothing that he could do.

"It's my job," Dean said finally. "Ever since I was four."

Dexter furrowed his brows.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, he couldn't help it. "I told you that Dean Casey wasn't real, so obviously that mean's his file is a sham." He could tell the guy these things 'cause it wasn't like he could go to the cops with it or anything, who was he going to explain it to?

"So tell me."

Dean ground his teeth, clenching them-- if there was anything in the world that Dean hated the same amount that he hated heart-to-heart, it was talking about his past, his shit of a life. Dean hissed out a breath through his teeth; if he was going to do this then he had to lock everything down tight-- fucking welded.

"When I was four my mother was killed by a demon, one that was after my brother. Afterward, my dad spent his life trying to hunt it down and kill it, dragging me and Sam along with no other choice to follow. When Sam was old enough he left me and dad to go to Harvard and become a lawyer, his girlfriend was killed by the same demon that killed mom. Dad went missing during a hunt and we searched for him. He was killed by the same demon, and Sam soon after that. I sold my soul and went to hell in order to bring back Sam back, before I was rescued by an angel four months later. Sam had turned semi-evil with demon blood and a black-eyed bitch. We then fought to stop the apocalypse and in the end we did, but Sam went to hell as a result. He was resurrected, but without a soul. So then I made a deal with Death and got Sam's soul back, but then he went insane with the memories of his time in hell. While Cas, the angel that brought me back from hell, tried to fix him, but instead went insane too. And here I am,"

Dean's face was a completely blank slate, his eyes were empty and unfocused, he'd tried to make his voice void of ant emotion-- but Dexter could detect the yawning depression like a man on the edge of a cliff. 

"Who's Bobby?" Dexter asked, finding that his voice was low.

Dean's swallowed, his eyes flicking away from Dexter for a second. His voiced cracked, "He was a family friend, more of a father than dad was. He was killed a month before I came to Miami." Like an adoptive father, like Harry was to Dexter.

"And you came here to kill the Dark Passenger." Dexter said slowly.

"The gist, yes." Dean tried to nod again, forgetting that his head was tied down. "So if I can do that, I'll be outta your hair."

Dexter found himself grounding his teeth, suddenly angry-- but he found that it wasn't his anger, but instead the Dark Passenger's and it caused him to grip the handle of his blade. He beat the Dark Passenger back and his grip on the blade loosened.

"The Dark Passenger is a part of me," Dexter told him.

"A _separate_ part of you," Dean said. "You may think it's your friend now, and that you can control it, but how much longer is that going to last? I bet it's happened before. It  grapples for control even now, wanting to cut my head off before I kill it because it knows _who_ I am and _what_ I do." 

Dean's voice was sharp and there was none of that depression that Dexter had sensed before, but it was hard and filled with truths that he couldn't deny. He had lost control a few times before, the first had been when he was with Brian, and the Dark Passenger nearly made him kill Deborah-- dear, dear Deb. And it would be absurd for him to kill Deb, just as it would be preposterous for him to try and kill Harry before he'd died-- it was against the Harry Code.

" _He's right, son._ " Harry's voice came behind him.

Dean's eyes widened. "You're dad's a ghost?"

" _What?!"_ Dexter demanded, his eyes snapping down to Dean. "You can see him?"

Dean sputtered. "Yeah, I can fucking see him." he was struggling against his bonds. "Let me fucking go!" he yelled at Dexter.

"He can see you, Harry." Dexter looked away from Dean as Harry stepped forward beside him. "Why can you see him?" he asked Dean.

"Of course I can see him, now let met outta here!"

" _This is interesting_," Harry commented, looking down at Dean.

"This isn't fucking interesting," Dean growled. "This is fucked!"

" _How_ can _you see me?"_ Harry inquired.

Fuck fuck fuck! Now he didn't only have to deal with a possession, but a fucking ghost too? How in the hell did this happen? And what the hell was he supposed to do now? "Whadda you mean? People see ghosts all the time, _I_ see them all the time."

" _No one else has before_ ," Harry told him.

"Well, that's because you didn't want them to." Dean said.

" _Hm_ ," he said thoughtfully.

"Look," Dean started.

" _You should let him, Dexter_." Harry said, ignoring Dean.

Dean was starting to feel offended.

"What?" Dexter questioned, his eyes glued to Harry.

" _You should let Dean take whatever it is that is inside you, out_." Harry told him.

"But it's a part of me, it's who I am." Dexter protested.

Harry shook his head. " _It's not. You always told me that it was something separate from who you are."_

"You're wrong!" now Dex was really feeling like a lost child; Harry and Dean telling him one thing, but the Dark Passenger forcing him to feel another-- it was hard with all the noise that it was making him hear as if it were trying to shut what the others were saying out, like it didn't _want_ him to hear.

" _You know I'm not, and you know that he isn't_." Harry put his hands on Dexter's shoulders. " _I've always believed that whatever darkness that was inside you was never going to go away, so I moulded you in a way so that you could use **it** and it not use **you**. I have to confess that I was partly being selfish when I did so; I was sick of all the injustice of all those criminal not being put to justice-- so I created the Bay  Harbour Butcher_." he said softly, but his voice strong.

Dexter was silent, he didn't know what to make of this-- he couldn't think, the Dark Passenger was screaming from the backseat. What was he supposed to feel about this? Used; like Harry had know what was inside of Dexter when he adopted him and _that_ was the reason why. But Dexter knew that Harry wasn't that selfish, but if it was, that was the reason why _he_ could control the Dark Passenger and not the other way around-- if it had been that way, then the Dark Passenger would have killed Harry and Deb and Dexter couldn’t had that. Dean had said that he couldn't give a rat's ass whether continued to kill, and did he really _need_ the Dark Passenger to kill? Hadn't Harry's Code taught him how and the Dark Passenger was just that, a passenger? And wouldn't it be good to be more than _fond_ Deb, or _if I had feelings how I would have loved Harry_ , or have Harrison be more than just a 'light' to his 'darkness'? Wouldn't it be good to feel, to have full control of his body and his mind? To be able to not have so much noise in his brain that it made him want to squeeze his eyes shut and yell?

The Dark Passenger was not in agreement. It was screaming bloody murder; for Dean, for Harry, for Deb-- for everyone; it even went as far as including Harrison. _His **fucking son!**_ It was claiming that Dexter was its, that Dean had no right to come in here and kill it. Dexter didn't like sound of that. The Dark Passenger had invaded him, stolen his _soul._ It didn't own him, if anything, Dexter owned it. He wasn't going to allow it to hurt Deb or go near his son anymore. Dean had been right about his control slipping; it slipped with Deb-- and what if it slipped when he was with Harrison? What then? He couldn't let that happen and knew that he needed to get rid of the Dark Passenger.

Dexter finally nodded his head.

Dean had been holding his breath, unsure of what was happening. Harry was different than any ghost that he had met, the temperature hadn't dropped, he wasn't trying kill anyone or anything-- was he even a ghost at all? And then he felt like he was invading in a private moment when Harry and Dexter were talking, and how could that be when he was fucking taped to a table-- it wasn't as if there was anything he could _do_ to fix that because they seemed content with leaving him there. And was it his fault that he was jealous of their relationship, of how close they seemed? He and John had never had that. But he listened anyway 'cause it wasn't as if he couldn't not listen-- and what they were saying could concern him-- which it did because of the Dark Passenger thing. He'd seen the silent struggle that Dexter seemed to be going through, the strain showed between his knitted brows and the tightness around his eyes. Dean didn't know what it was like to have an inner-struggle with something inside of you that didn't belong-- in all his time hunting, he'd never gotten possessed-- Sam was the king of that; the mental hospital was proof that he'd finally lost the battle. But Dexter had lived with the Dark Passenger since he was three years old, so that thing had a big fight on its hands-- Dean just hoped that Dexter had seen reason, if Dean had a kid, he wouldn't want anything that could potentially hurt him near. And he thought that that was what had won Dexter over too, when he finally nodded in agreement.

" _Good, son_." Harry nodded, cupping the sides of Dexter's neck with his hands.

Dexter gave him a weak smile and nod.

" _Good. You're strong, Dexter, and you're going to get through this perfectly fine."_ he reassured before he looked over his shoulder at Dean gave him a nod and then, he just disappeared.

Dexter breathed, trying to focus.

"You gonna cut me out, or what?" Dean said, not able to take just laying here anymore than he had to-- time was up a while ago.

Dexter shook his head, trying to shake the noise. "Right," he took the knife in his hand and started to cut the bonds holding Dean down. His hand was trembling slightly, but he tightened his grip and it steadied.

Dean sat up in relief and was quick to put on what was left up his jeans and shirt; he didn't bother with anything else because he knew that he had to get this over quick. He could tell by the expression on Dexter's face that the thing inside him knew what was going on and agreed a butterfly's fart with it. Dean was going to burn this bitch and there was nothing it could do about it.

"I hope you're ready for this," Dean told him.

Dexter didn't say anything, but his expression did.

Dean wasn't as familiar with a spirit exorcism as he was with a demon exorcism, but he wasn't ignorant. He may not have ran into this a lot on the job, maybe once when he a teenager; he was rusty on it but he'd never forget.

This time, Dexter was the one secure to the table because Dean wasn't sure how the Dark Passenger was going to react after being forced out of its host of thirty years. And it was a good thing that Dean still carried around a few things on his person from his hunting days when he pretended to be a detective 'cause he really needed them now.

Dexter, oh Dexter... The Dark Passenger may have entered his body quietly, but he was leaving loudly. He had no idea what was happening inside of him, but he could _feel-_ \- feel the Dark Passenger tearing its way through his _soul_ on the way out like it was a piece of  chicken. Dexter knew that he was screaming and thrashing, he'd never felt anything like this. He was physically and mentally torn-- and... he started coughing up blood.

"Shit!" Dean cursed as he quickly cut Dexter loose and helped him up. "We have to get you to a hospital," he told him; the exorcism was worse than he thought it was going to be and the damage done to Dexter was a unknown-- usually going to a hospital in these types of situations was a last resort for a Winchester, but he was a Casey know and hospitals were allowed; plus, this guy had a kid and Dean couldn't put the kid through the loss of a father.

Dexter shook his head though. "The room," he groaned, coughing into his hand, covering it in blood.

"I'll drop you off at the hospital and come back to destroy the room." Dean promised.

A horrible groan left Dexter's lips and he was too weak and out of it to protest anymore. So Dean dragged him to his car, dropped him in the passenger seat before running to the driver's side. He turned the key and peeled away from wherever it was that Dexter had taken him and drove him to the hospital at a quick speed-- weaving through traffic. He dropped Dexter off at the exit before he headed back to where he was held.

So Dexter got checked in and they couldn't find any reason as to why he would be coughing up any blood, they wanted to hold him over night for observation to see if it got any worse. Dex didn't protest because all he wanted to do at the moment was lay down and be alone. He felt _raw_. His soul had been held captive by a darkness for thirty years before being brutally attacked. It was so painful. But that wasn't all he felt, the emotions were over powering-- his moods were out of whack; he was like a twelve year old who just got her period and didn't know what to do. He was swamped; one minute he wanted to cry, another he wanted to yell, laugh, hit something, hide in the dark, pull out his hair-- everything. Things that he'd never felt before, that the Dark Passenger had take from him. It was so new and he was like a new born babe shoved into the world unawares. But despite how crazy his mind was right now, he felt a lightness too instead of the  oppressing darkness he'd had his whole life because of the Dark Passenger. And it was a _relief_ , like he could breath again.

**dextural**

Dean had destroyed the Kill Room, the one that could have been the possible end for him-- and maybe it would have if the guy Harry hadn't shown up-- he didn't have a partner and he couldn't have called on Cas to come and save his sorry ass. So, yeah, that could have been his for real end. He was a little shocked, now that he had time to fully realize it. And after he dropped of Dexter's car at the hospital he went back to his motel room and just sat on the end of the bed quietly.

His hunt was over, so now it was time for him to leave. Why did he feel disappointed on that fact? He didn't even want to come here in the first place, so what the fuck?! It was that stupid Gabriel's fault; if he'd just left everything well enough alone-- then everything would have been _well_ (literally). If that stupid trickster hadn't reopened the sealed door of his dream, then he wouldn't have doubts about wanting to leave. But who was he kidding himself? He wasn't a real detective, not before and he wasn't one now. He wasn't Dean Casey, detective; he was Dean Winchester, hunter. But... would it be so bad if he stayed? He didn't have anyone to have his back during hunts; he didn't have Bobby anymore; Sam and Cas were out of commission (possible forever because if an angel couldn’t fix the wall in Sam's brain, what could?); and the  leviathans were finding a cure for cancer. Yes, they’d eaten multiple people, but who hasn't, right? What would be so bad in just leaving them alone? There were other hunters out there, the Winchesters weren't the only fucking ones on the god damned planet!

His packed duffle bag sat at his feet; that was just stupid, in the morning he'd leave-- get Frank to put in a transfer request for him again or something.

He sighed and laid back on the bed, so it was decided.

**dextural**

Dean had found himself unable to stop form seeing how Dexter was doing in the hospital; it was kind of a habit because he was usually informed of the victims status from the cops or whatever after every hunt. So there he was, standing at the foot of the bed, he and Dexter just staring at each other.

Dean cleared his throat. "Feeling better?"

"I stopped coughing blood up a few hours after I got here." Dexter told him, his voice sounded a little hollow.

"Good," Dean nodded, feeling awkward the second he stepped into Dexter's room. "Does the lieutenant know?"

"I didn't tell anyone, didn't want to kick up something I couldn't explain." Dex told him.

"What about your kid?"

"Jamie's taking care of him."

"Good" Dean nodded again. "Kinda hard to—"

"Why are you here?" Dexter finally asked him.

"You know..." Dean told him with a flippy hand gesture; because really, he didn't know why he was here, why he hadn't left Miami.

"You want to stay a cop, don't you?" Dexter noted, his tone calculating. He may have just gained his soul back, and he was raw, but he was still dear old Dexter, calculating.

Dean didn't say anything.

"I'm right." Dexter nodded. "So what's the problem?"

"That I'm **_not_ ** a cop."

"Really? How are you not? I thought that you were Det. Dean Casey, transfer from Illinois, with a job at Miami Metro P.D; compliments with a badge, I.D. and desk in the office." Dexter said curiously. "Is there reason to suspect that you're a fraud? I didn't find any, at least."

Dean stared, was Dexter giving him a chance to live out his dream? To finally quit hunting and actually do something that he wanted to? Should he grasp this opportunity? He was feeling something inside of him, something that he hadn't felt since he was four... excitement. Was that even possible anymore? He hadn't been sure before, but now... his heart was pounding. This would be safer, too, wouldn't it? Sure, he'd go by a different last name and he'd never really gone to any academy-\- so this wasn't going to be _real_ -real, but it'd be real. Dean was finding that there was a smile that wanted to cross his lips, and it wasn't forced either, this grin was actually genuine. 

"But... but... uh..." Dean didn't know what to say.

" _But_ ," Dexter said. "There's something that you have to do or else someone will suspect something."

Dean furrowed his brow. "What?" he asked, a little panicked.

Dexter smirked. "You can't live in a motel room anymore."

"That makes sense." Dean nodded.

"And I know where an apartment that you can rent is." Dex told him; and why not? Wouldn't it be good to have the guy close so he could keep an eye on him and in case something else tried to take his soul?

"You've thought this through--" Dean started before his mouth hung open and he pointed an accusing finger at Dexter. " _You_ were the one that was in my motel room-- that was uncalled for!"

"Oh, don’t act so offended." Dexter said. "You were the one that was stalking me night after night."

"Yeah," Dean said sarcastically. "It's not as if you haven't been following me around."

They glared at each other.

"We should probably stop that," Dean said after a moment.

Dexter let out a deep breath. "I think that's a good idea."

"So, I'm gonna go now," Dean told him, thumb over his shoulder. "I'll see you at work." he twisted around and left Dexter, letting the smile play across his lips-- he was still going to murder Gabriel though.

f

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that you enjoyed and I got everyone right. I'd thought about making the Dark Passenger a demon, but that would have been too obvious so I went with a spirit soul possession. If you didn't realize, the surprise guest was Gabriel. Both Cas and Sam went crazy, Bobby's dead, but Frank is still alive and obviously so is Gabe. Dean did most of the swearing and there was an appearance of Harry, I didn't put Quinn in because I don't like him or his character in "Dexter".  
> Please review! Thanks,


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